Been a long time since he found himself staring at a blank page with his fingers poised above the keys just hovering like twin drones awaiting orders.
Months since the last time he could remember but definitely not more than a year.
At least no sweat, no fear, no doubts nor sinking feeling that he made the wrong choice and he would be broke, starving and surviving on the fringe, alone, for the remainder of his days.
Nope. Happily absent. And funny. He had been doing this too easily for far too long to be concerned at this point. He was struck curious if anything.
The words when summoned typically spilled from his lips just as they appeared on the screen. His fingers moved as fast as his mind. Prose composed fluidly, spelling intact, continuous flowing, full control of emotion and tone.
That’s how it worked up until now. Staring into the clean white illuminated document on the screen, he was becoming more aware of the minutes passing, the encompassing volume of the hum of white noise, digital waves undulating from bottom to top, the more secure he became in recognizing these symptoms.
He named the ancient spell as if it were a hip new Brooklyn neighborhood shrimp toast shop and then was happy and relieved to have this legitimate break in the day. Something unplanned and beyond his control.
As if the internet crashed or the typewriter ribbon ran dry or a major weather event caused a mandatory evacuation of the city.
So before he let himself continue along the natural and well-worn path, diving into the deep end of mindless internet wandering, he stepped away from his desk, to begin his own ritual back to creative productivity.